


if you're lost you can look (and you will find me)

by sarcastic_fina



Series: Wintershock - Firsts Challenge [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 08:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4870837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastic_fina/pseuds/sarcastic_fina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s not sure how to thank her, how to tell her that some days he feels like she saved his life, picked him up out of that void and told him there was a way out if he wanted. So he doesn’t say anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you're lost you can look (and you will find me)

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt** : First Introduction as boy/girlfriend [[MCU Wintershock](http://mcuwintershock.tumblr.com/) [Firsts Challenge](http://mcuwintershock.tumblr.com/post/128518622478/wintershock-challenge)]
> 
> *Title from " **[Time after Time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VdQY7BusJNU)** " by Cyndi Lauper

He gets lost sometimes. He’s not proud of it and he doesn’t plan on admitting it outloud anytime soon. But every once in a while, he’ll get trapped in his head, and find he’s not quite sure where or who he is. It’s not violent so much as terrifying. His memory is full of holes and it feels like he trips down them, stuck in a void of who and what and where. 

He’s scared that if he admits it they’ll stick him in a white jacket and write him off as a lost cause. Maybe not Steve, but everyone around him. All the higher ups, the people calling the shots, the ones that look at him like he’s always one misstep away from becoming a human bomb they’ll need to stick in a controlled area and detonate. Sweep up the debris, glue him back together again. 

Eventually, the fog fades and he’ll find his way back to the tower. Sometimes it takes minutes, hours, days. One time, he went off the grid for three whole weeks. But he always comes back. He’s pretty sure that’s what keeps Steve from worrying too much. He’s not sure  _why_ Bucky does it, why he’ll just disappear or take off, but as long as he comes back, he’s willing to give him his space. 

Bucky’s not sure how Darcy figures him out, but she does. She’s what Steve likes to call the team mom. She makes the meals and checks in on them after missions and nags them into taking care of themselves. She wrangles the scientists into better eating and sleeping habits, organizes team dinners, and welcomes new and old members with warm smiles and friendly teasing. She’s a calming presence, even when she’s loud and exasperated and complaining that Steve has a death wish and he better get his ass down to medical, she doesn’t care if the serum will fend off tetanus, he’s getting a shot anyway. He likes her. Seeks her out sometimes and just sits at the kitchen island while she bakes, relaxes with the help of her bustling and the music coming from her iPod.

The first time she finds him, he’s sitting on the stoop of an apartment he lived in when he was eight years old. The building’s been renovated near to unrecognizable, but the neighborhood is familiar, or, at least, the way to get there is. She takes a seat beside him and doesn’t say anything. It’s winter though, so she hands him some knitted gloves and shares a thermos of hot chocolate with him. His hands react automatically, accepting the plastic cap she hands him. 

They sit there for two hours until he looks at her and says, “We can go back now.” And she stands, rubs her hands over her legs to get the blood flowing again, and then leads him back toward a street where she can hail them a cab.

She doesn’t say anything to Steve, doesn’t tell him where or how she found him, just lets him go about his business as usual. He wonders if JARVIS helps her, gives her a heads up when he’s in a strange head space and tracks him through traffic cameras. He wants to ask, but he doesn’t, feels like it might be opening a box of questions he’s not ready or willing or able to answer. So he leaves it. He still lingers around her though, takes comfort in how she never treats him any different, no matter how many times she has to come and find him, lead him back to the safety of the tower like a toddler that doesn’t know any better.

Today, he’s sitting on a park bench. He’s not sure how long he’s been there,  how he got there, or why he went there. Taking a seat beside him, she places a brown bag between them and reaches inside. There’s a sandwich for each of them, wrapped in brown paper. Unwrapping one with three kinds of meat, a ton of lettuce, bean sprouts, tomato, and slices of pickle, she hands it to him and he accepts it. They eat lunch like that, quiet and peaceful. 

Four months they’ve been doing this. The only time she hasn’t found him was the time he woke up from the haze in a different state entirely, in a HYDRA hole that had been long abandoned, cleaning a gun he didn’t recognize. It hadn’t been fired recently, and that was the one thing that kept him from panicking too much. It scared him though, more than he’s willing to admit. 

“’m not safe,” he tells her, wipes a bit of mustard from his mouth. 

She glances at him. “Do you want to be?” 

His brow furrows and his gaze falls to his half-eaten sandwich. “Think there’s a quick fix for it?” 

“Not quick, no.” She shakes her head. “But the first step to fixing something is admitting it’s broken... or at least malfunctioning. Steve lets you go because he knows you’ll come back. But one day, you might not.” She frowns. “One day it might not be me that finds you.”

He’s thought about that, worried about it late at night, when he can’t fall asleep. Worries himself sick thinking about a day the fog will fade and he’ll be back with HYDRA. It’s a fear that robs him of all the safety the tower provides, the comfort of having Steve around gives him. He could sabotage himself and end up back where he started. He doesn’t want that.

"Instead of pretending it’s going to be okay, that maybe one day it’ll just stop, why not talk to someone? Find out what’s happening and what you can do to change it.” She turns to him, shrugs a shoulder. “Either that or you’re going to have to start wearing an ‘If lost, return to Steve Rogers’ t-shirt, and, trust me, you don’t want that.” 

He snorts, but it’s faint, absent. He’s thinking, wondering. “Talk to a shrink?” 

“We can find someone discreet, someone who can help you put the pieces back together...” She hands him an apple from the bag and he rubs it on his shirt before he takes a bite. “I’ll help you find one you’re comfortable with. There are some old SHIELD connections, but we can do an extensive background check to make sure they’re on the up and up.”

“That easy?” 

Darcy half-smiles. “I don’t think it  _is_ easy. Talking your stuff out, that’s hard. Sometimes you don’t want to admit you even  _have_ stuff you need to deal with. But... It’s better than bottling it up, waiting for the fallout.” 

“I don’t know. Pretty dame keeps finding me. And feeding me...” He half-smiles. “Don’t mind that part so much.” 

She laughs lightly. “I’ll still find and feed you. Just maybe when all your marbles aren’t so scattered, huh?” 

He grimaces. “Even if I do see a head doctor, no promise I’ll get all my marbles back.” 

“So you work with what you’ve got. But at least you know you tried, did everything you could to be who you wanted to be.” 

He nods, takes another bite of his sandwich. “Yeah.” He stares out over the park as he finishes his lunch, and when he’s done, he tosses the garbage and dusts his hands off. “You’ll help me?” 

She tucks her arm in his as she turns them on the walking path. “Every step of the way, Buckaroo.” 

He takes a deep breath, swallows back his worry, and tells her, “Okay.” 

It’s a step, maybe not big, but necessary. 

They go through a few options for shrinks, and he meets with each of them, tests how it feels, before he decides who he wants to work with. He’s happy with his choice. They’ve got a standing appointment, twice a week. Darcy walks him to and from the office each time for the first month. She sits in the waiting room and works on her tablet. 

He’s not sure how to thank her, how to tell her that some days he feels like she saved his life, picked him up out of that void and told him there was a way out if he wanted. So he doesn’t say anything. He just lingers. Hangs out in the kitchen while she’s baking, eats the burnt leftovers she shoves at him because the first batch never goes the way she wants. Sits on the couch with her while she watches crappy TV, listens to her complain about plot holes and bad acting. Shares a blanket and a bowl of popcorn with her on team movie night. Reaches for everything on shelves that are too high for her. Lets her sleep on his shoulder after a long day. Fills up her dance card at Stark-run events. He’s got it bad for her, he knows, but he wants to be better before he does anything about it.

He thought he’d be ashamed of having to see a shrink, that he’d feel like he wasn’t right somehow, and maybe he does, a little, but he gets over it. Talking helps. Admitting that he doesn’t know or can’t remember or he isn’t sure, it’s a relief to say it outloud and not be judged. His therapist is a good guy, calm and encouraging and understanding. 

He still has relapses, blinks back into the world and has no idea what’s going on, but they become less frequent, and that tells him he’s doing something right. And Darcy... she’s always there. She always finds him. He tells Steve too. It takes some time, but he gets up the courage to admit to him what’s been happening and that he’s working on it. Steve’s supportive, even offers to join him in a few sessions if he wants. It feels good, knowing that he’s making progress and doing what he needs to. He feels more whole than he has in a long time.

After six months of therapy, Darcy hands him a box. 

“I didn’t get you anything,” he says, his brow furrowed. 

She grins. “You weren’t supposed to.” 

He reaches for the box uncertainly. “What is it?” 

Rolling her eyes, she nods her chin forward. “Open it and find out.” 

He chews his lip, pulls the little ribbon bow on top to untie it and takes the lid off. Nestled in a pillow of white satin is a silver pair of dog tags. He pulls them out and turns them over.

One tag reads: 

 _James Buchanan Barnes_  
Avengers Tower  
_200 Park Avenue, New York, NY_  

While the other has  _Steve Rogers_  and  _Darcy Lewis_ with each of their phone numbers typed under their names. His heart thuds in his chest.

“I figure, shit happens. Set backs are bound to crop up. This way, if you’re not sure who you are or where you need to go, you’ll have a way to figure it out. And if you’re not sure, you can call us, and we’ll come get you.” Darcy shrugs. "Plus, it’s way better than a t-shirt.” 

He rubs his fingers over the tags and then loops the chain around his neck, lets them fall against his chest. It’s a familiar weight, comfortable in its own way. He half-smiles back at her, mouth shaking a little. “Thanks.” 

She reaches out, covers his bionic hand with her own. “You hungry? I was gonna make some lunch.” 

He turns his hand over, rubs his thumb over the top of hers. “Why don’t you let me take you out? There’s a diner in my old neighborhood, makes a good burger.” 

“Yeah?” 

He nods. “Yeah. Maybe I can show you around...” He takes a deep breath, gathers up his courage and tells her, "Memory’s getting better, and... I’d like to share it with someone. With  _you_.” 

She smiles slowly. “I’d like that.” 

He ducks his head as he grins. 

They leave the tower, hand in hand. 

Getting lost isn’t so terrifying when you know you’ll be found.


End file.
